


Wincest Love Week 2016

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Smith/Wesson, Blow Jobs, Curses, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, POV Outsider, Possessive Dean, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with fluff and ends with fluff with some smut in the middle. Sort of like a double smut Oreo. Ficlets for Wincest Love Week 2016.</p><p>Day 1 - Gifts In The Bunker (Fluff)<br/>Day 2 - Casts And Sigils (Hurt/Comfort)<br/>Day 3 - Nobody Good Enough For My Baby (Stanford era)<br/>Day 4 - There Are Worse Things (Curses)<br/>Day 5 - Doing The Thing (AU)<br/>Day 6 - Contain Yourself (Undercover)<br/>Day 7 - The Pink Moment (Fluffy Valentines Day)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gifts In The Bunker

The Winchesters don’t give each other gifts. When you live your life out of a duffel bag, you don’t get attached to things. But living in the Bunker, anonymous gifts are starting to show up in the week leading up to Valentine’s Day.

An antique puzzle box on Dean’s desk.

A book of Enochian poetry on Sam’s pillow.

A new rack of spices in Dean’s kitchen.

A leather bracelet engraved with wards against injury on Sam’s favorite chair in the library.

There’s never a note or an explanation. Neither Sam nor Dean say a word about these tokens to each other but there never was a need for them to say what is obvious to both of them.


	2. Casts and Sigils

Normally, it’s Sam that gets hurt so when Dean breaks his leg and is stuck in a cast for several weeks, he thinks he is going to go stir crazy in the Bunker. Instead, Sam keeps his mind off it by feeding him bacon cheeseburgers, binge watching Daredevil on Netflix and drawing protection sigils all over his brother’s cast.

As Matt Murdock kicks and punches on screen, Dean watches Sam’s long fingers as he carefully drags the Sharpie pen along the rough white plaster in a series of swirls and flourishes. His brother is so beautiful in his concentration, his forehead scrunched up and his tongue darting in and out of his soft pink lips. The unconscious movement is childlike but what it does to Dean is far from innocent. Dean can’t help but reach out and run his hand along the curls at the nape of Sam’s neck.

“I’m working here, Dean,” Sam says as he tries to move out from under his brother’s hand, but Dean closes his fingers in the brown curls, forcing his brother to look up at him before dragging him up the bed and into a long kiss.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Sammy.”


	3. Nobody Good Enough For My Baby

This bar reminded Sam of a hundred places he visited with Dean in the last few years before he headed to Stanford. Generic and dimly lit with cheap beer and no one checking IDs. Sam wasn’t a big drinker but sometimes he just needed to get away from the dorm and his new friends, who were always asking questions about his family. While they could empathize with missing your family, he doubted that any of them tossed in their beds at night, lost without the feel of their brother’s arms around them, bodies locked together sweaty and spent in some nameless motel room.

When those memories became too much, Sam would find someone without a name, without a connection to him. Someone like the guy sitting on the bar stool next to him. A sturdy build with short blond hair, Eric (Derrick? Darren?) had a charming smile and a warm hand that crept up Sam’s thigh and nestled itself in the V between his legs. Only problem was this guy's eyes were wrong. Sam didn’t want the color of California oceans but of green grass fields in Kansas.

As Eric/Derrick droned on about how to get into law school, Sam glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of brown leather jacket leaning against the far wall. His heart stopped as he locked eyes with his brother. Dean.

Sam pushed away from the bar as a hand clamped onto his forearm. “Where ya going? I thought we were just starting to have fun?” He turned to blue-eyed Derrick/Eric and offered up a tight smile. “Why don’t you order us some more beer and I’ll be right back.” He pulled his arm away and began to push through the crowd, but there was no more sign of Dean. When he reached the far wall, Sam stepped outside into the cold air of the parking lot. No sign of the Impala either. Maybe his loneliness was making him see things.

As Sam approached the bar again, he could see the guy pulling on his jacket and couldn’t resist the quip. “I thought we were just starting to have fun?”

Eric/Derrick turned to him and Sam could see he was pale and shaken. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m out.”

“Game?” Sam scrunched up his nose as the guy pushed past him in a hurry to leave.

The bartender placed another beer on the bar in front of Sam and smiled as if sharing an inside joke. “This beer’s on me. I don’t know what your boyfriend said to that idiot, but the look on his face was priceless.”

“Boyfriend?” Shit, Sam really needed to stop repeating back what everyone said.

“Yeah, the guy in the leather jacket. He asked me to give this to you.” The man handed Sam a folded bar napkin with his name in a familiar scrawl across the front. Sam blinked once before opening the note and reading the message inside.

_“I’m always watching out for you, baby brother.”_


	4. There Are Worse Things

Frigging witches. The hex bag that Sam touched caused him to drop to his knees, keening in pain so badly that Dean came running from the other side of the dilapidated house. All it took was one touch of his brother’s hand on his shoulder to take the pain away. Problem was it returned in force the minute Dean pulled away. 

According to Bobby, it was a touch curse. He had all the ingredients for a cure but it was a two-day drive to South Dakota. 

First few hours were easy. Sam sitting shotgun, resting his head back on Dean’s hand along the seat back. Dean would massage his neck or card his fingers through Sam’s hair. All the stress finally got to Sam who curled up on the front seat with his head in Dean’s lap. As Sam shifted in his sleep, his face rubbed against the top of Dean’s thigh, who was trying so hard not to move and wake up his little brother.

Of course, his cock had different ideas. And apparently Sam did too. 

His brother made soft little moans as he began to mouth along Dean’s jeans, making his way up along his brother’s thigh. As he pulled Dean out and took his cock all the way down, with Sam's lips soft and sweet around him, Dean gripped the steering wheel so tight he thought it would snap in half. In the small space of the front seat, Dean rocked up into Sam’s mouth in short jerky motions until he felt his balls tighten and his thighs tense with Sam humming him to completion. 

Now, holed up in a motel room for the night with a warm sleepy Sam wrapped around him like an octopus, breathing softly in his ear, Dean thought he should hunt those witches down and give each of them a frigging fruit basket. Best curse ever.


	5. Doing The Thing

“Are you ready for this?” Dean Smith looked across the bar table at the man who just walked up. Sam Wesson looked great out of his yellow polo and dad khakis, with broad shoulders that filled out his tight black tshirt so well that even the straight guys at the next table noticed.

“Ready for what?” Dean loosened his red silk tie and reached for the first of many beers. After quitting his job at Sandover today and being on that goddamn cleanse for the past week, he was ready to drink tonight. A lot. 

Sam gave him a big dimpled smile and waved his hand enthusiastically back and forth between the two of them. “Us. Together. You know, doing the thing.” 

Dean stopped mid gulp and his green eyes went wide in surprise. He had been fantasizing about doing all kinds of things to his coworker. Bending him over his desk. Getting head in a stall in the executive washroom. Fucking him face down on the couch in Zachariah’s office until Sam cried out out his name so loud their colleagues stopped outside the locked office to listen. Oh yeah, he thought about doing the thing with Sam. 

Despite Sam’s searching looks in the elevator each morning, Dean wasn’t 100% certain until this moment that the other man felt the same way.

“Sure, we can head back to my place.” He gulped the beer down in three quick swallows. 

Sam looked confused for a minute and then laughed with his whole body, hazel eyes shining. He stood up, throwing a $20 bill on the table. “Hell, Dean, I was talking about hunting ghosts but if you want to fuck, I’m ready for that too.”


	6. Contain Yourself

The coroner was finishing up with the two FBI agents over the exsanguinated body on the slab. As her assistant watched the interaction from across the room, all she could think was how my boss must be the biggest idiot. If these two are really FBI, then I’m Wonder Woman.

Maybe her boss was blinded by the charming one’s fake smile or the tall one’s empathetic eyes and concerned lines wrinkling up his forehead? But really, how could her boss miss Charmer’s inappropriate jokes or the fact that Thinker’s hair curled down past his collar? Not to mention the way they looked at each other in silent conversation over the body, or how they glanced at each other when their partner wasn’t looking, or the fact that neither of them took notes.

The assistant’s forensic science classes taught her to examine every detail in a scene and everything about these two men pinged her radar.

As the two agents wrapped up the conversation and walked back through the door of the autopsy bay, she watched as Charmer placed his hand on Thinker’s back, guiding him through the doorway. A polite gesture, a courteous gesture. Except for the fact that his hand slid down the taller agent’s back to rest at the top of the curve of his ass.

The intimacy of that small movement made her grab a clipboard and follow them into the dimly lit hallway. Charmer’s hand never moved from his partner’s back as they walked in front of her.

“Dean, we don’t have time for this…” Thinker said, waving his long hands expressively in front of him while Charmer wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“C'mon, Sammy, there’s always time for a little role play. Let’s find an empty room. I’ll be the detective conducting the interrogation and you can be the innocent man accused. Or how about I’m the CDC inspector and you’re the earnest young doctor who called me in.”

“Dean…”

They turned into another shadowy corridor out of her sight and she hurried to catch up, peeking around the dark corner.

Charmer had Thinker pushed up against the wall, with his hands resting on the tall man’s hips. “Sam, ’s not fair. You know how much I like you in the blue fed suit. It’s all I can think about.” As Thinker flashed an indulgent little smile, Charmer pressed a small kiss against each corner of his partner’s mouth.

The assistant pulled back around the corner and took a deep calming breath, at the same time that the coroner came out of the autopsy bay. “Hey, did you happen to see which way those FBI agents went? I forgot to give them a copy of my notes.”

She walked back down the hall towards her hapless boss. “No. Nope. I don’t know what direction they went.”


	7. The Pink Moment

It isn’t often that the Winchesters work a case in Southern California. So when they finished up with a vamp on Valentine’s Day, Sam was thrilled to stay one more night in the sixty-degree temps of Ojai before heading home to winter in the Bunker.

“C'mon, Sam, let’s go for a ride,” Dean said, setting the green Coleman cooler in the back seat of the Impala. Without a word or question, Sam climbed into the shotgun seat right now to his brother. Dean drove the car up the winding roads into hills covered in golden grass and a strange combination of shrubby pine trees and swaying palm trees. Sam wondered briefly about their destination but didn’t care as long as they were together and off a case.

Parked at the top of the bluff, Dean pulled a plaid blanket out of the trunk and spread it on the hillside. “It’ll only be a few minutes now, so have a seat, Sam.”

Sam raised his eyebrows but hunkered down next to his brother, who handed him a beer from the cooler. Examining the bottle label, Sam couldn’t help but laugh, “Dean, you hate this expensive craft beer stuff.”

“Yeah, well, you like it so I’ll suffer through. Wait, wait, here it comes.”

“Here comes what?” Sam turned to look out at the sun setting in the surrounding hills.

“The locals call it the Pink Moment. I know, what a girly name, right? But that detective I talked to yesterday said we shouldn’t miss it.” Dean’s wide eyes reflected back the spectacular pinks and corals of the dying day that lit up the peaks and valleys below them. As Sam looked at Dean in that glow, drinking in his face and his content smile, he thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sammy.”


End file.
